Halcyon
by Clara Barton
Summary: At Relena's wedding, Zechs finds unexpected companionship.


June 12: Lavender

A/N: Thanks always go to Ro for always helping me keep my head on my shoulders and being an amazing beta.

Warnings: post-canon, angst

Pairings: 6+3

 _Halcyon_

Zechs stared into the mirror at his reflection and couldn't help but grimace.

 _Lavender_ would not have been the color _he_ would have chosen for the linen suit he wore.

But he hadn't had any say in the decision, had barely been invited to a fitting for the suit, and had been glared at when he even dared to raise an eyebrow over the color choice.

He was _lucky_ , Dorothy Catalonia made to sure to tell him¸ that he was being invited to the wedding at all. Nevermind that he wasn't in the wedding party and therefore, traditionally, should have been able to choose his own attire.

Not so with Dorothy Catalonia planning every minute detail of what the press were calling the _Wedding of the New Order_.

Zechs didn't care for that sort of branding, and certainly didn't like the way that the press and, it seemed, most of humanity was pinning their hopes for a bright tomorrow on the slender but strong shoulders of Relena Peacecraft.

That she was marrying Quatre Winner, the most famous and wealthy colonial in the post-war earthsphere, only heightened the near frenetic importance of the event.

As much as Zechs loved his sister, as much as he truly wished to have a relationship with her that extended beyond a video call every few months and a few public appearances together each year, he was _not_ happy about being trotted out for this event.

Dorothy had made it clear – Zechs was a guest only. He would _not_ give his sister away, he would _not_ make a toast during the reception. He would sit there among the other guests, saying as little as possible and doing it with a smile on his face, and he would allow the press to take as many photos of him looking charming as they could. He was allowed exactly _one_ dance with Relena, a dance that would be interrupted by Heero asking to cut in. The script that Dorothy had provided Zechs required him to clap the other man on the back, shake his hand, and chuckle as if _Heero Yuy_ had made a joke. And then he was supposed to walk away, melt into the crowd, and not make a spectacle of himself or draw too much attention to the fact that the former leader of White Fang was home from his Martian exile.

He had decided not to even attend the wedding – an expensive gift and a note expressing his wishes for Relena to have a fulfilling relationship with Winner and the chance to forge a real partnership in their private life seemed like a more sincere way to express his congratulations.

Of course, as much as Dorothy had made it clear that Zechs's presence was _not_ the ideal, she had made it even more clear that under no circumstances was he to skip it. The earthsphere apparently needed to see him, in the background, tamed and regretful and embracing the golden future in the form of Relena and Winner's union.

The girl had actually threatened to have his pilot's license revoked if he didn't show up, or if he did and made an ass of himself.

It was galling enough that Zechs _almost_ decided to portray the monster Dorothy clearly still thought he was.

In the end, however, Zechs had gone to the fitting for his lavender linen suit and now, standing in his hotel room and tweaking the matching lavender bowtie against the soft, slightly sheer white linen shirt he wore, Zechs allowed himself a private moment of anger.

The wedding was on earth, at some tropical retreat on a private island that meant Relena and Winner were able to completely control access to the event. A choice few press were invited, important politicians, magnates, artists and celebrities from all over the earthsphere and, of course, the leading figures of the wars who still drew so much attention from humanity.

He stared at himself, at the _uniform_ he had been coerced into wearing, and he forced his eyes to thaw, forced himself to pack away his irritation and his anger and bury it deep. A trick he had learned so many years ago, and which had served him well in the twenty-five years since his parents' deaths.

The ceremony was held on the beach, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the golden bride and groom as they said their vows to each other.

Winner, looking to the west as he turned to Relena, had to squint some as he said his vows, and Zechs saw Dorothy scowl. No doubt she had _known_ the setting sun would be in the eyes of the groom - she knew literally every _other_ aspect of the day - and Zechs could well imagine that she had given Winner very strict instructions to suck it up and _not_ squint or risk ruining the photographs and video recordings by looking anything less than perfect.

After the smiling couple walked back down the aisle, hand in hand while the guests stood and applauded, there was a slow migration to the bar, buffet tables and dance floor set up under stars on the enormous veranda of the obscenely palatial beachfront villa.

Zechs was in no hurry to join them.

He had been seated in the front row of Relena's side, a scowling Heero Yuy to his right and a placid, frigid-eyed Une to his left. He had honestly wondered who Dorothy was torturing more - Zechs, Yuy or Une. Then again, she _had_ always been efficient.

The ceremony had not been brief, but, without anything to compare it to, Zechs didn't know if it was longer than the average. All he knew was that Yuy clenched his fists into the fabric of his gray linen trousers so firmly that his knuckles turned white and the linen appeared to be permanently wrinkled. Une, on the other hand, still wore the rose perfume that Treize had first given her so many years ago.

After that thoroughly unpleasant experience, Zechs was relieved when the guests moved to adjourn to the refreshments.

Zechs, meanwhile, lingered on the beach. He rose from his chair and walked towards the waves. He stopped short of the water and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. He had always liked the ocean. Sanq's northern coast had been lined with fishing villages and a few larger ports. Quaint, traditional, the inhabitants doing the same tasks in the same ways that their ancestors had been doing them for hundreds of years.

Zechs had fallen in love with space, had thrived in the harsh environment and had found a certain measure of peace on Mars, but he had always thought back to this scent - salt and sand and sun and wind - and it was this that he missed the most. About Earth. About Sanq.

He wondered if Relena felt it too, wondered if she had chosen the location because of faint childhood memories or if, more likely, Dorothy had chosen it because of the aesthetic possibilities.

Zechs didn't want to think that Relena's life was that scripted, but he wasn't naive. Nor did he think his sister was just a pawn for Dorothy to move around - he knew, just as well if not better than Dorothy, that Relena did _exactly_ what she wanted and what _she_ thought was best.

The sun was setting on the distant waves, bleeding over the horizon like the last gasp of a fiery explosion. Not, Zechs knew, the comparison that most would make. But he had been on too many battlefields to not see the orange and red for what they could be.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but it must have been a while.

Long enough for the band to play several songs, for the distant sounds of laughter and applause to waft down, for the sky to pale and turn from orange to lavender.

Lavender.

He looked up and had to scoff. Dorothy, he realized, had planned for that too.

Zechs became aware of another presence, and he looked over his shoulder to see a lanky man approaching, lean figure clad in the sand-colored linen suits that all of the groomsmen wore. He had two glasses in hand, and as he came to a stop beside Zechs, he held one out.

Lifting an eyebrow in question, Zechs accepted the glass warily.

"You missed the toasts."

"I'm sure Dorothy is grateful for that."

The man's thin lips twisted into a smirk, but he sipped from his glass instead of commenting.

"She looked for you."

"Dorothy?" Zechs was incredulous. Would the woman give him _no_ peace?

"Your sister. Noin said something about families and forging bright futures, and Relena looked for you."

"She could have been looking for anyone."

The man let Zechs have the denial, though the raised eyebrows on his face indicated his doubt.

"Were you sent to retrieve me so that I can play my part for her?" Zechs finally took a sip from his glass.

The chilled champagne sent a pleasant tingle through his mouth and throat. He had always liked champagne. There were so many memories of shared glasses with Treize, with Noin, with the doctor on Mars who Zechs had almost fallen in love with.

"No. Quatre asked me to check on you."

There was something to the man's voice, not quite bitterness but not very far from it, that made Zechs look at him again.

"I was surprised when Winner proposed to Relena," Zechs said slowly, as neutrally as he could.

The man beside him shrugged and finished off the rest of his glass.

"I'm not sure why you were. Quatre laid the groundwork for months - expensive gifts, exotic vacations, romantic gestures of all kinds. I was surprised it took him as long as it did."

"I always assumed the two of _you_ would end up together."

The man gave Zechs a look.

"Misery looking for company?"

Zechs shrugged one shoulder and took another sip from his glass.

The man sighed.

"I… I was only ever a friend."

Zechs considered him, the fall of auburn hair that hid half his face with varying success as the breeze ruffled it across his forehead. The man's green eyes stared out at the ocean with an intensity that Zechs easily recognized as that of a man trying _very_ hard to run away from his own thoughts.

"They seem happy together." Zechs wasn't sure if he was offering a consolation or an attack.

The man shrugged.

"They have a lifetime of making the best out of their situations, and they've been trained on how to appear in public since birth."

Zechs arched an eyebrow.

"You think it's all a front?"

The man let out a frustrated sigh.

"No. Of course it isn't. They're perfect for each other. If they don't get themselves assassinated, they'll change the course of human history."

It was remarkable how much the words echoed Zechs's own opinions on the matter.

Beside him, the man toed off his shoes and set his empty glass down on the sand beside them.

Zechs watched as the man methodically undressed, folding each article of clothing and placing it on the sand under his shoes until he was completely naked.

He was, Zechs had to admit as he finished his champagne and wondered what the _hell_ the man was doing, truly gorgeous.

He had the body of a warrior, with the scars that mapped his victories and defeats and the lean muscles to prove he could still fight.

"Tell me this isn't some clumsy proposition."

The man gave him a hard look.

"I've never been accused of being clumsy in my life. And _if_ I wanted to proposition you, you wouldn't have to wonder whether or not that's what I was doing."

With that tart response, he walked past Zechs and into the surf.

And Zechs stood transfixed, watching as the waves battled against the pale body that strode confidently forward until the man dove under the curl of an approaching wave and disappeared from sight.

It was a moment before Zechs saw him again, moonlight glinting off him as he breached the water some yards out.

Zechs was fairly confident that the man didn't want company.

He set his glass on the sand and undressed.

The water was surprisingly warm, although the deeper he waded, the cooler it got, and by the time Zechs was waist-deep he could feel his skin turn to gooseflesh.

He followed the man's earlier example and dove into a wave, emerging on the other side to draw a deep, purifying breath of air as he surfaced.

Zechs wasn't sure where the man was, wasn't sure he was even supposed to care.

He maneuvered onto his back and floated, looking up at the sky and picking out the visible colony clusters among the stars.

"Noin misses you."

Zechs didn't bother to look at the man, or to give too much thought to the fact that he hadn't heard him approach.

"She told me about Mars."

 _That_ got Zechs's attention. He gave up on floating and instead started to tread water as he turned and found the man, hair dark and plastered to his forehead, pushed back to expose him completely.

"I imagine you knew about it anyway, from the incident reports."

The man was silent, his dark gaze as deep and unrelenting as the ocean surrounding them.

"I did. But debriefings and autopsy reports can only tell you so much."

"Did _Une_ send you out here in the hopes of making me incriminate myself?"

The man laughed at that, the sound shockingly rich and deep.

"I've seen the reports, remember? You did a fine job of incriminating yourself already. But you were cleared of any wrongdoing. Even Une stands behind that."

Zechs had wondered, when the Preventers agents showed up on Mars nearly a year after the incident, if Une would take the opportunity to bury him.

Instead, she had charged Noin, as the colonial commander, with negligence and recalled her to earth. Leaving Zechs to finish out the remaining three years of his tour alone, surrounded by men and women who knew him by reputation and who had likely all seen the surveillance footage that showed him killing two of the five colonial engineers who had jumped him, had decided that Zechs needed to pay for the lives he had stolen.

"They had a gun. Any kind of high-velocity projectile in the habs up there is a danger to the entire colony. Deadly force was exactly what was required."

"Are you trying to _comfort_ me?" Zechs sneered.

"I've been told that I'm about as comforting as a blanket soaked in lighter fluid laying beside an open flame."

Zechs felt his lips twitch. He wondered who had said that; no doubt one of the man's former comrades.

"I think that's an accurate estimation," he said.

The man didn't laugh, but Zechs was fairly certain he could see the curve of his lips.

He swam closer.

"I heard you changed your name."

The man inclined his head, and Zechs felt the man's legs tangle briefly with his own.

"Trowa Barton needed to be put to rest." The words were simple, so heavy they sank between them, and Zechs felt the truth of them, the tangle of death and violence, in the pit of his stomach.

"What do you call yourself now?"

"Triton Bloom. Another dead man's name."

"We all carry the names of dead men," Zechs had to point out.

"I suppose we do."

They treaded the water in silence and looked at the stars, limbs occasionally brushing together, flashes of strength and warmth in the cold currents that tugged at them.

-o-


End file.
